


Regrowth

by Mythlorn



Series: Orpheus Universe [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of major character death, timeline divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythlorn/pseuds/Mythlorn
Summary: Jarod Shadowsong has lost his way, and himself. Can an old friend help him overcome, and find the path again?"Regrowth" is a multi-chapter fanfiction that is part of the Orpheus Universe, a timeline divergent A/U. View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn-art.tumblr.com/post/161659084696This work will contain adult content, is same sex relationship based, and has scenes of violence. It will also deal with potentially triggering content, explicit sex scenes, and major character death. Some relationships could be considered problematic. Tags and character/pairing list will be updated as the fiction progresses. Reader discretion is advised.





	Regrowth

**Chapter One:**  
  
       A scratchy tongue dragged up Jarod's cheek, and a cold nose nuzzled into his temple—making him giggle as he buried his fingertips into snow colored fur. He was but a child, and Edras was so big. His small arms could scarcely reach around that broad chest, yet gamely he buried his face into a tattooed shoulder.  
  
_I missed you. Did you have a good day?_ The spirit asked him, deep voice soothing in the quiet of the forest.  
  
“I learned a lot during my lessons … but I'm not very good at magic. Maiev is, though.” Jarod was trying hard to smile, but his ears drooped despite his best efforts—and Edras was not fooled.  
  
_Yet you are here. Do you not want to play with your friends?_ The bear spirit flicked a long, tufted ear in sympathy.  
  
Jarod's lower lip quivered,“But _you_ are my friend!” His eyes welled up, and Edras sunk to the ground, offering out a broad, silvered side to sprawl against—which the young night elf did, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
_Of course I am, Jarod … but you need to play with the other cubs. I won't leave you, I promise; and I know you will come to visit me when you have time._  
  
Jarod bit his lip before he started to sob, “Maiev doesn't want to play with me.”  
  
_Oh, child._ The spirit murmured sadly, one big paw curling Jarod closer.  
  
“Can I stay here with you, even if I'm not very good at anything?”  
  
~*~  
  
       Jarod's head was a riot of pain as he struggled his eyes open; he had fought waking, his mind clearly trying to protect him from one harsh reality or another—and he groaned in denial at the too-bright light that felt like it lanced directly into his skull. It couldn't get much worse, could it?

Then, a long, wet, scratchy tongue slurped up the side of his face—and he flapped his hand uselessly while making a louder sound of disgust.  
  
“Stoppit, Bard,” he grunted.  
  
His temples were throbbing in time with his pulse, and there was straw down his boots that was poking into his calves. Ugh. Had he really fallen asleep with his neck at this angle? Dozing off in the stables wasn't a surprise. He never felt worthy enough to sleep in a proper bed; besides, it was better out here with the animals.  
  
“Commander. Commander Shadowsong.”  
  
Since when could Bard talk? The world was swimming, and Jarod had no idea where he was—other than his 'saber's stall.  
  
“Edras?” He murmured blearily. Wait. Who was Edras?  
  
“Huh? No. Is this where you've been sleeping? There's a perfectly good inn fifty paces away, you know?”  
  
The commander tried to sit up, and an empty wine bottle tipped over on the flagstone floor. The resulting accusatory 'clink' was loud enough to make him flinch, and he blinked owlishly at the noise. Before him Thisalee Crow weaved in and out of his blurry vision.  
  
Goddess! He was _still_ drunk—and hallucinating beautiful druids?  
  
“Wow, you really tied one on. Was the party that fun?” Thisalee asked; crouching beside him and trying to steady him as he swayed.  
  
“No party, just … a long night,” Jarod hiccuped. At that, Bard rumbled unhappily behind him—rising and dumping the commander unceremoniously forward onto his hands and knees. The warrior might have thumped his forehead into the floor had Thisalee not caught him, and he grunted indignantly.  
  
“You need a bath. You smell like a distillery. Maybe the cold water will sober you up?” She suggested cheerfully.  
  
Even the pitch of her voice made Jarod grit his teeth, “Maybe in a minute. Why … why are you here?” He asked—brow furrowed, ears tilted, and eyebrows drooping.  
  
“Shan'do Stormrage wants to meet with you. He says it's really important.”  
  
“You've got to be joking, you chased me all the way out here to—” A wave of nausea washed over the commander, and Thisalee passed him an empty water bucket without comment.  
  
~*~  
  
       Regrets, Jarod had them. One of them being _Thisalee_. The young Druid of the Talon would not give him quarter. He had tried telling her 'maybe'. He had tried pleading for time. He had tried asking her nicely to leave him alone. He had even attempted to send her on a fruitless errand that would allow him to slip away without having to answer her.  
  
And everything had failed.  
  
Now he was soaking in a tub full of ice cold water at the inn—and she was _standing_ there. Her back was turned to him out of respect for his modesty, but she wasn't going to allow him the chance to crawl out of the bathroom window again.  
  
He was entirely too sober. His head ached. He had a strange craving for steak and eggs despite his previous nausea; and he had zero intentions of riding to Val'sharah in the accursed afternoon heat. Tell that to Thisalee, though.  
  
What could Malfurion possibly want with him? Jarod's grief welled up at that thought of the archdruid. He had not been able to bring himself to visit his old friend, or even offer him sympathy for his wife's loss. Especially after what had taken place at Black Rook last night. He knew he was running, that he couldn't avoid those that needed him forever; but how could he face them? He had let them _all_ down. Tyrande, Maiev, Kur'talos, Malfurion, Illidan, the Kaldorei in general—and now his undead friends that he'd had to lay to rest once more. It felt like it was all his fault, as if he should have been able to find a better way.  
  
A way to stop these horrible things from happening.  
  
The very words echoing in his head reminded him of his mentor, and he winced again. Why did everything have to circle back to Kur'talos? His mind then unhelpfully supplied flashback's of last night's battle. The risen guardians of the hold had been attacking the villagers of Bradensbrook—but Jarod's friends would never have done something so despicable had they retained an ounce of themselves. They had been heartrendingly confused by Gul'dan's dark magic; and Jarod still felt ill.  
  
He thumped his head back against the edge of the tub in frustration, his claws biting into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists … and he felt gentle fingertips begin to stroke through his hair. Thisalee was standing over him, sluicing water through his dirty, silver tresses. Tears pricked unbidden at the back of his eyelids. Why was she being so kind?  
  
“It's not your fault, Commander,” she said gently, her normal enthusiasm set aside in the dark and quiet of the bathing chamber.  
  
“I'm no 'commander',” Jarod whispered thickly, voice rough from drinking. “I can't even protect my sister.”  
  
“No one can protect your sister,” Thisalee stated, a brow raised. “She does what she does, when she wants to. Even Shan'do Stormrage can't make her see reason. Especially right now.”  
  
“And that's my fault, too,” he sighed.  
  
“Don't say that! No one else believes that. You're good to everyone, Jarod. You're a good man.”  
  
Jarod felt a tear run unbidden down the side of his face—and the Druid of the Claw's hand wipe it away gently. He winced at that. He didn't want anyone to see him this way.  
  
“Why … why does Malfurion want to see me, Thisalee?” Jarod asked quietly. He suspected his invitation had everything to do with Illidan—who was the last person the warrior wanted to speak with today. He shuddered at the mere thought, and it had nothing to do with the cold water he soaked in.  
  
“He made me promise not to tell you; and only to say that he wants to meet you at Archdruid Bearmantle's place—near the Grove.”  
  
“Will Illidan be there?”  
  
Thisalee had the good grace to look uncomfortable, “Yes.”  
  
“Then I'm not going,” Jarod said resolutely.  
  
“Malfurion thought you might say something like that.”  
  
“And this is the part where you threaten me?” He asked her warily.  
  
“No. I don't have to,” she shot back, a lopsided grin turning up the corner of her mouth as she reached for a bar of soap.  
  
“I'm supposed to do that for her,” Kayn Sunfury's gruff voice echoed off the bathroom walls, the growl of his demon peppering his tone. “And for the love of all that's left standing in Azeroth, would you mind doing something about your sister?”  
  
Jarod blinked at the roil of shadow that announced the demon hunter's arrival.  
  
This day was just getting better, and better.  
  
~*~  
  
       Thisalee checked Bard's cinch for what felt like the dozenth time—and Jarod was more frustrated than ever. His stomach was still rolling dangerously, and he wanted to turn and run. That wasn't even remotely a possibility, though. He had a demon hunter wedged on either side of him, their felsabers clicking and warbling enthusiastically, and Thisalee was perched happily behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.  
  
“This feels like a prison escort,” Jarod rumbled.  
  
“You did agree to come,” the druid reminded him.  
  
“I didn't 'agree to come',” he groused. “You put words in my mouth, and then coerced me!”  
  
“I guess your sister does count as coercion, huh?” Thisalee said, sounding crestfallen.  
  
“I appreciate you agreeing, this means a great deal to Lord Illidan,” Kayn interrupted placatingly.  
  
Altruis, on Jarod's other side, just turned to give the warrior a hopeful look, his spectral eyes wide.  
  
“What? What are you not telling me?!” Jarod finally exclaimed, more frazzled by the second. Of late he had preferred to spend time by himself. Everything he had ever done in his life had ended spectacularly poorly, and he didn't feel like he should have the chance to make bigger and better mistakes.  
  
Yet instinct was telling him that was exactly where he was headed.  
  
Especially if it was not just Malfurion who had sent for him—but Illidan, too.  
  
~*~  
  
       Broll Bearmantle was sweeping the front porch of his humble abode, and brooding; for lack of a better word. All of what was to come was his fault, and he couldn't deny that. He had brought it upon himself … and Jarod.  
  
_He_ had been the one to suggest that the Kaldorei, the Circle, needed their First; floundering in grief though Malfurion was. And it had been Malfurion who had advised Broll to take up the mantle in Tyrande's stead—turning the burden back on him. Broll's reaction had been … equally unenthused. Nay, even vehement.  
  
Sighing, the put-upon archdruid shifted his gaze from the from porch steps— to the greenery beyond.  
  
Illidan was perched on the bench before the herb garden, a golden-eyed gargoyle in the morning light. Even lost in thought, he was intimidating; though Broll was not as cowed as he once was, and had no difficulty sweeping the walkway around him. Illidan had been good for Malfurion, balancing and steadying; and the changes in the demon hunter were self-evident as well. Especially in this. Instead of taking the offering of power, instead of bolting ahead and agreeing to take leadership of the Kaldorei—as well he could have—Illidan had suggested Jarod. Broll shrugged to himself. Well, he supposed it wasn't _entirely_ his fault.  
  
But it certainly felt like it, as Jarod was his best friend.  
  
Shadowsong was a tremendously good man, flaws and all. He wasn't the best in any one field, especially combat, but what stood out was how kind and fair he was. He had everyone's best interests at heart, always, and he wasn't the sort to judge. They had been friends for centuries—the commander had seen Broll at his absolute worst—and not once had he said an unkind word. Ravencrest had known what he was doing a goodly amount of the time, and here he had been completely correct: Jarod was a natural leader. But greatness had to be thrust upon him instead of given, or his disposition suffered; and that meant strong arming him—which Broll hated.  
  
“Sighing won't change anything,” Illidan said drolly, his squinted gaze fixed ahead on something Broll couldn't see.  
  
It made the big druid startle—Illidan's deep and cultured voice in the bright morning air of Val'sharah; it felt surreal.  
  
“This won't be easy for Jarod, or Malfurion,” Broll warned. He and Illidan had not taken all that long to come to an uneasy truce. They both had faced similar adversities in life, and the demon hunter had been swift to win the big druid's respect. Especially after what he had done for Cenarius.  
  
“I know. That is why I am giving them time,” Illidan rumbled in reply, blinking his restored eyes closed with an answering sigh.  
  
Illidan was going to have to apologize—a lot—and Broll smirked at the thought. Yes, the Stormrage twins were changing; that much was certain.  
  
~*~  
  
       Jarod drew Bard to a halt in the clearing outside Broll's cottage; and immediately Kayn and Altruis were leaping from their felsabers. Kayn respectfully took Bard's bridle and reins, and Altruis offered Thisalee a hand down from the saddle—which she accepted in a way that emphasized the changing climate between druid and Illidari. Ever since Illidan's return, it had been thus. The growth was overwhelming to keep up with, but also sorely needed. Especially if the Kaldorei were to cooperate among themselves to defeat the Legion.  
  
It was a start, at any rate, but it wasn't enough to quell the knot in Jarod's stomach. Kayn and Altruis had thought out his pseudo-kidnap meticulously; and the warrior had to hand it to them—they had him neatly hemmed in. He might have turned and tried to flee yet again; but then he saw something from the corner of his eye that gave him pause.  
  
And that something was Broll Bearmantle.  
  
His approach was easy, more of a saunter; his guardian spirit showing in the roll of his hips and the protective gleam in his eye—and leaning his staff against a tree, the green-haired druid made his way to Jarod's side. There, he helped the warrior dismount; a protective, steadying wall of muscle between the commander and his insecurities. Had it been anyone else, Jarod's pride might have been pricked, but in this instance he was much more focused on the relief of a friendly face.  
  
“Jarod Shadowsong, it is an honor to meet again, my friend. And in better circumstances,” Broll said warmly, his smile only for the commander. There was a way about Bearmantle that was eager to please and overprotective—that was, once he had decided to put his trust in someone; and with Broll's tumultuous past, earning his respect was no mean feat. Jarod felt honored.  
  
“It’s good to see you, too!” Jarod replied happily, his voice sweet and gentle despite his burgeoning headache. He also did not hesitate to cross the short distance between them and embrace Broll. “You look well! Er. Taller? Somehow?”  
  
The hug lasted several heartbeats before Jarod stood back. The contact was welcome after the grief of the last few months; and Broll's easy demeanor—even more so.  
  
“It’s the antlers,” the archdruid deadpanned; stepping away reluctantly, his strong hands on both of Jarod’s pauldrons as he looked him up and down. “I wish I could say the same for you. You look terrible.”  
  
Jarod chuckled at that. He was aware that he still reeked of stale wine and heartache. “I had a little too much last night. I knew better but … the wine was good.” He flashed Broll a wolfish grin despite his watering eyes. In the moment, everything had drifted away; his worries, his fears, the demon hunters beside him. There was only _Broll_ , and Jarod's heart sang in joy at being reunited with an old friend.  
  
“Oh! I can help! I’m good at making draughts! But … maybe you should have the Archdruid make you a cup of tea to put it in?” Thisalee interrupted helpfully.  
  
Jarod blinked at that. Startling as he returned to reality, he then nodded slowly. Carefully. It felt like the top of his head was going to slide off; and well meaning thought she was, Thisalee's enthusiasm wasn’t helping in the slightest.  
  
“I will let Lord Illidan know you have arrived,” Altruis interjected, giving Jarod a look of sympathy. “Is there anything I can do to help you, Thisalee?” He asked the Druid of the Talon, turning to her in an attempt to draw her with him—and give Shadowsong a break from her … joy. The other elf looked like he was ready to crawl into a dark corner with a sympathetic ice mage and give up.  
  
Frankly, Altruis was impressed that Jarod had even come along—and that no one had been stabbed by Maiev yet. One never knew their luck, he supposed.  
  
“Oh yes, I need some sky leaf, some willow bark, and some lavender. Fresh would be best. Oh! And some Yseralline seeds. Oh! Maybe a touch of fennel!” Thisalee was excited at the prospect of not only accomplishing a difficult mission for Malfurion; but at the chance to practice her growing skills as an herbalist.  
  
Altruis offered his arm out to her, his behavior as polite as usual—and she accepted it without question; happily leaning against him as he lead her off.  
  
Thus, free from two of his charges, Kayn began to see to the mounts. Close enough to prevent his target's escape, but far enough to give Jarod some space, which he could sense the other elf needed.  
  
~*~  
  
      “How are you, really?” Broll asked more quietly.  
  
Thisalee's voice was fading into the distance, and the calm of Val’sharah encompassed them both.  
  
Jarod paused, biting his lower lip before answering—Broll had lost Varian, he had no room to complain, “The grief has been bitter.”  
  
The archdruid nodded barely perceptibly. “Perhaps, when you are feeling better, I could take you to pay your respects. That is, assuming you have the heart for such things. I could barely bring myself to comfort Anduin.” Broll knew this was hard for Jarod. Obvious hangover aside, Illidan had not been kind to Shadowsong the last time the two had encountered one another; and Tyrande's loss hung like a wet cloak over everything.  
  
“I … I would appreciate that,” Jarod replied, bowing his head away from the bright sunlight.  
  
“And if it would be of help, lunch is on the way. Illidan is—unsurprisingly—a proficient hunter; we will have venison sandwiches for days to come. Though maybe we should only speak of food after that draught of Thisalee’s?” Broll asked.  
  
“That … would be good, Broll. Thank you. Can I ask … why I was called, or can’t you speak of it?” Jarod was a soldier. Orders were orders, but it helped to know what was coming.  
  
“I fear your summons are partly my fault. I won’t tell you what it’s about, or how to answer. Just know that whatever your decision, I will support you. It won’t be an easy thing asked of you,” Broll stated, looked troubled.  
  
Jarod had figured as much. “Thank you, my friend. That is more than I could ever hope for,” he sighed.  
  
And left it at that.  
  
~*~  
  
       Illidan had been resting calmly on the bench beside Broll's work table, looking over the recipe that Allari had written down for him. Her handwriting was bad, and his eyesight was worse. Most damnably, the glasses that Khadgar had given him were back in the cave. He had just debated asking Malfurion if he could read the last sentence of the instructions—when Altruis knocked at the cottage door.  
  
Malfurion bid him enter—seeming surprised at how quickly he had returned—but the Sufferer didn't get to speak before Thisalee swept in. In an instant she was searching through Broll’s things for mortar and pestle; the front kilt of her skirt made into a basket for the fresh herbs she had gathered.  
  
“My Lords,” Altruis said, saluting. “Commander Shadowsong has arrived, if you are willing to entertain?” The demon hunter had some manners to speak of.  
  
“And he’s hung over,” Thisalee said cheerily; measuring out roots and seeds, expression suddenly focused.  
  
“Ah, yes. There is that,” Altruis apologized.  
  
“Bid him come when he is prepared, then,” Illidan said, recognizing Thisalee fast at work creating a hangover remedy. He would keep giving Jarod as much time as he could.  
  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** Thank you for reading! I am feeling my way through my own interpretation, plot, and characterization; so this was challenging, but in the best way possible. Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta team! So, all hail Tratius and Shalar0s, who were brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  
  
~*~


End file.
